


man of steel, man of heart

by ithinkiwannamarvelyou



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, and thus this monster was born, basically one day i thought "what if 14 year old peter had an arc reactor", freaky friday AU, this is a pipe dream i refuse to let go of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-02-13 13:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkiwannamarvelyou/pseuds/ithinkiwannamarvelyou
Summary: In an alternate universe, Parker Industries is run by Obadiah, Peter Parker is abducted by the 10 Rings, and Tony spends his nights fighting crime in spandex. And it all unravels from there.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Obadiah Stane, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> wowwwww okay.  
so this is a project i've been working on since july. i had the crazy thought of switching tony and peter's origin stories– just for fun!!- and opened the door to a world much larger and complex than i previously thought. i am super nervous to bring this out into the world after so spending so much time with it just hanging out in my brain – but i'm also so excited to share! 
> 
> hope u enjoy!

**2010.**

"Come  _ on _ , May, come on!" 

Peter was practically vibrating with energy. He tugged on May's hand with all of his childlike strength, sneakers scraping against the sidewalk. 

"Peter, slow  _ down _ ," May said, laughing. "We have more than enough time to see everything you want today, don't you worry." 

Peter's ninth birthday was just around the corner, and May, his nanny, had surprised him with an early present—a whole day exploring New York City. Peter didn't get to go out often—Obadiah was normally too busy with work to take him out. Peter spent most of his time in Parker Tower, in his room, or in the car, driving with May or Obadiah for errands or events. For the first time in weeks, he was walking in the crowded streets of the city, and he could barely contain himself. There was so much to see! Dozens of people walked beside him, carrying briefcases and talking on phones. Peter's glasses were dangerously close to flying off of his face with how fast he was turning his head, desperate to take everything in, commit it to memory. 

"Do you think we might see Spider-Man?" Peter asks, once he finally slowed down to walk beside May. He looked up to see her grinning down at him. 

"Maybe he'll swing above us, up in the clouds," May said, and Peter started to giggle. 

"I wish I could show him my suit," he said, glancing down. His blue sweatpants and red sweatshirt were covered in hand-drawn webs. He and May had spent a whole week coloring it all in; May even made a matching mask, which was shoved in his sweatpants pocket at all times. 

"I'm sure he would love it, Pete," May said. Suddenly, someone pushed through the space between the two of them, forcing their hands apart. Peter turned on the spot, standing perfectly still until May was able to reach for him again. 

"Good job, honey," she said, squeezing his hand. "It's very important that you stay close to me. Wouldn't want to lose you in the crowd." 

Peter nodded. The small moment of panic that had poked at his chest dissolved as they continued to walk down the street. 

"Where are we going first?" Peter asked. 

"Obadiah got us tickets to the new exhibit at the Museum of Natural History," May said, as Peter bounced alongside her in glee. Obadiah himself didn't come, but Peter didn't mind much. He was with May instead, and that was more than okay. 

May had been around since Peter was little. Obadiah had hired her on the way home from the funeral for Peter's parents, and she showed up within the week. Peter had been only four years old, wandering around the upper floors of Parker Tower, asking anyone close to him when his parents were coming back home. Everyone always ignored him—except for May. She sat next to him and held his hands in hers. 

"Peter, your parents aren't coming home anymore. They died, which means they aren't going to be around. Do you understand, honey?" 

Peter blinked up at her. He remembered the time he found a bird lying on the sidewalk. His dad had called it  _ dead,  _ scooped it up in his pocket square and carried it to the nearest patch of grass. Peter watched him sit the bird down and then glance at Peter, telling him in a soft voice to say goodbye to it. 

Peter thought about the way his mother would tuck him in at night—pushing the blankets in tight, the way Peter begged her to, so he felt wrapped up and warm—and started to cry. 

"Who's going to tuck me in?" he said, voice wobbling. May peered at him through her rounded glasses. She smiled, slow and sad. 

"I will, Peter. I'll take care of you." 

May was everything Peter loved in a person. She gave good hugs, and watched cartoons with him on Saturday mornings, and didn't yell at him when she found out he was staying up late working on his robots. On nights where he would wake up reaching for his parents, she would sit by his side and sing until he fell back asleep. On Peter's birthday, when he blew out the candles, he wished that May would stay around forever. 

"Are we almost there?" Peter said, looking up at May again. 

"Almost," May said, but her eyes were focused on something ahead of them, her brow furrowed. Peter tried to look ahead, but couldn't see much around the people in front of him. There was a sudden shriek of approaching sirens, the lights flashing between the buildings along the streets. May gasped, seeing something Peter couldn't. She yanked on his arm, pulling him back the way they came. 

"Come on, we'll find a different way around," she said. 

"What's going on?" Peter asked. Around them, people were suddenly running in both directions, pushing against each other in a frenzy. 

"There's a roadblock up ahead," May said, eyes wide. "There's probably some crime happening, which we need to get you away from—" 

The rest of her words were lost on Peter. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look towards the commotion. From further away, he could see the cop cars, their sirens flashing bright. 

May tugged on his hand. 

"Come on, Pete, let's go." 

"Do you think Spider-Man is there?" Peter asked. 

May sighed. 

"Maybe, honey, but it's not safe for us to go see." 

"May,  _ please _ , if he's there I could say hi, and maybe even show him my suit—" 

"Peter,  _ no.  _ It is too dangerous." May's tone was sharp, a quality Peter didn't often hear from her. He wanted to listen to her, but the idea of seeing Spider-Man made his heart race like nothing ever had. May started pulling him along again, weaving through the crowd. Peter wiggled his fingers in her grip.

"Peter, stay with me, please," May called, but he had already pulled away. His height made it easy to slip through the crowd, ducking under shopping bags and hands clasped tightly together. Behind him, May called his name, voice rising in panic. Peter’s chest twinged with guilt, but he couldn't make himself turn around.  _ Spider-Man was here!  _

He finally reached the edge of the crowd. Clinging to the bars of the barricade, Peter lifted himself up, searching the area for his favorite hero. To the left, cop cars were stopped in a messy zigzag formation, officers standing around with their guns aimed towards something large and metal off to the right. Peter realized with a start that there was a man sitting in the suit, howling with laughter. 

_ "You think bullets could kill me?" _ the man said, with a voice more like a growl, and Peter's heart skipped. This was not a good man, this was someone Spider-Man should be taking down— _ but where was he? _ Peter craned his neck, pushing himself as far over the railing as his scrawny arms could bear. 

The man's helmet came down and bullets started firing from somewhere on the suit. Beside him on either side, panic started to set in, people pushing each other in their haste to leave the area. Something pressed against Peter's back, pushing his stomach into the barrier. Barely able to breathe, Peter clenched the bar in his hands and closed his eyes. All these people were in danger, but his favorite masked hero was nowhere to be found. 

_ If Spider-Man wasn’t here, someone would have to step up.  _

Pulling his own mask out of his pocket, Peter ducked underneath the barrier, feeling pieces of gravel cling onto the cloth of his costume. Once on the other side, he was quick to run towards the patch of street between the cops and the metal man. People shouted in panic from behind and beside him, hands reaching out to grab him––but he was too quick, having years of practice dancing out of May's reach. 

"Kid, get out of here!" Someone yelled behind him, but Peter's eyes were glued to the villain in front of him. He could see now how the metal suit was formed like a Rhinoceros, it's silver horn gleaming in the sunlight. The metal mask lifted up again, so the man's pale face could be seen. He was grinning in a way that Peter didn't like. 

_ "Aw, a little spider,"  _ The man said, laughing coldly. Peter swallowed the fear that threatened to take over his body, and pulled on the mask. It didn't fit quite right over his glasses, but Peter ignored it. He stared at the Rhino man—at least as much as he could through the fabric—and grounded himself. 

Suddenly he heard something land behind him.

"I like your suit," a voice said. Peter turned and the air left his lungs in one swooping exhale. Spider-Man— _ the real one— _ was crouching on the hood of a car, the eyes of his mask wide and set on him. Peter couldn't speak. He pushed the mask up off of his face to get a better look, mouth falling open. The suit was even cooler close up, shades of deep red and dark blue, with intricate black lines like a web spreading from the center of his chest. 

"I knew you'd come," Peter said softly, finally finding his voice. 

"That's for holding down the fort for me," Spider-Man said, "I'll take it from here." 

Peter nodded. Spider-Man held out a fist and Peter reached out enthusiastically. Their gloved knuckles met and Peter's heart practically exploded—this was a  _ dream _ , it had to be. 

"Why don't you head over to your mom? I got this guy." 

Peter's heart clenched at the mention of the mother that wasn't here, that would never be here again––but his smile stayed bright, still in awe that he was talking to his hero at all. Spider-Man pushed him towards the sidewalk lightly, and like his brain finally turned on, he ran to the cop who was waiting with arms open. The police officer picked him up and ran back to the barrier, where May was waiting, her face red from crying. She immediately took him into her arms, her grip tight. 

"Don't you  _ ever  _ run away from me like that, ever again!" she cried, her cheeks wet. Peter mumbled his apologies. His head was still thirty feet away, standing next to Spider-Man, the hero of New York City. 

Once they were back in the car, Peter strapped into the booster seat he swore he was too old for, he had the idea. He reached over and poked May's side, pulling her attention away from her phone. 

"I'm gonna be a superhero one day," he said, eyes wide with wonder. May smiled in that soft, sad way she did when Peter asked about his parents. 

"I'm sure you will, honey. I'm sure." 

Peter fell asleep the moment May tucked him in, exhausted. That night he dreamt about flying through the sky alongside Spider-Man, shooting his own webs. The next morning, he ran down the hallway between his room and May's, arms full of coloring pencils and paper. 

"May, I need your help!" He reached the doorway, balancing on the balls of his feet. May had her back to him, fiddling with something on the bed. 

"Can you help me draw again? I want to show my class how I met Spider-Man and showed him my suit." 

May looked over her shoulder at him, her face red and blotchy. 

"Sure, sweetie. I'll meet you in the kitchen, okay?" 

Peter stared at her, his arms dropping to his sides. In front of her on the bed was a large black suitcase, overflowing with clothes. 

"Where are you going?" Peter asked. He suddenly felt cold, wanting nothing more than to curl up under May's heavy blankets and beg for her to sing for him again. May crouched in front of him, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

"Peter, you know how I came here to take care of you?" she said. Peter nodded. "Well, it's time for me to go and take care of someone else." 

Peter's chest tightened with panic. 

"No!" He lunged forward and latched himself to May, throwing his arms around her neck. "You can't go!" 

"Peter, please, you have to understand—" 

"No!" He squeezed his eyes shut, his throat raw. "I won't let you." 

"Peter," May said, and pulled his arms away from her. Standing, she zipped up her bag with a sigh. "It's time for breakfast. Come on." 

Peter glared up at her, face streaked with tears. May smiled, running a hand through his bedhead. 

"Come on, baby. I'll make pancakes." She left the room, her bag still on the bed. Peter took a moment before running after her, grabbing her hand tightly. She gave him half a glance as they walked downstairs together. 

"You're going to burn them," Peter mumbled, wiping snot off his face with his sleeve. May gasped dramatically. 

"I  _ won't _ ," she said. She turned the stove on and started grabbing ingredients from the cabinets, humming under her breath. Peter pulled himself up on the stool and started tracing circles on the kitchen counter. He couldn't stop hearing May's voice in his head.  _ It's time for me to go. _ What if he wasn't ready? May had been around for almost five years, the only source of love that Peter had. Who would be around after her? 

A bowl was placed in front of him. Peter looked to see May holding out an egg carton. 

"Wanna crack the eggs for me?" She smiled, but Peter looked away. He cracked the eggs, poured the milk, and stirred the ingredients in the bowl until it was thick, and then handed it off to May. Within minutes, a plate of pancakes were placed in front of him, only a little burned at the edges. 

"Not too bad," May said proudly. Peter didn't look up. He poked at the food with a fork, feeling too sick to eat. May leaned on the counter across from him. 

"Peter," she said, "You're going to be okay. You're strong, and smart, and so kind." She paused, sniffing. Peter still couldn't look up. "You're the best kid I've ever taken care of. I know you're going to do great things." 

Peter looked up and watched a tear slide down May's cheek. Something in his chest cracked, like the snapping of a bone. 

"I don't want to be alone," he whispered. May sighed and walked around the counter, pulling him into a hug. 

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm sorry I can't stay." She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, rubbing a hand down his back. 

From the other side of the room, someone cleared their throat. Peter and May looked over to see Obadiah standing by the stairs, tapping his foot. He smiled at the two of them, sharp. 

"Peter, champ, you have to go get dressed," he said, pointing at his watch. "Don't wanna be late for school." 

Peter knew better than to test Obadiah. With another round of tears burning behind his eyes, he pulled himself out of May's arms and trudged upstairs, dressing robotically and grabbing his bookbag. When he walked back down the steps, Obadiah was standing much closer to May, his face twisted in anger. 

_ "Don't you—" _ Obadiah stopped when he saw Peter, face melting into an easy smile. "Looking sharp, Petey. Run along to the car, I'll be there soon." 

Peter stared at May. She was fifteen feet away from him—and yet she felt miles away, untouchable. She smiled at him, though her forehead was still furrowed, her eyes still red. 

"Have a good day at school, honey. I'll see you later." 

Though every bone in his body screamed for  _ one more hug _ , Peter curled his fists and walked to the elevator. He rode down to the basement, got into the car, buckled his seatbelt. He sat in silence, tears dropping onto his t-shirt, sinking into the fabric. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter is the sweetest kid and i just wanna apologize in advance for what i will be putting him through :) also title is a lyric from "the man of metropolis steals out hearts" by sufjan stevens.
> 
> thank you to brit who let me talk out loud about this AU for literal months so i could piece it together somewhat coherently. 
> 
> thanks for reading !!


	2. growing alone

**2010.**

When Peter got home, Obadiah was waiting for him. 

"Hey Petey, how was school?" he said, sitting on the edge of Peter's bed. Peter stood in the doorway, hands gripping the bottom of his sweatshirt. Obadiah stared hard at him until he mustered up a response. 

"It was okay," he said. His eyes were still puffy from all the times he had cried, and they itched. "Where's May?" 

"May's not going to be around much anymore." 

Peter's eyes filled with tears. 

"But she's supposed to take care of me," he said, his voice small and sharp in his throat. The man in front of him didn't blink. 

"Peter, I'm not going to hire anyone else as a new nanny," he said, staring Peter down. "I think you're old enough to take care of yourself now. Do you think so?"

Peter remembered the nights he couldn't sleep until May sang to him. The glow-in-the-dark stars she had spent two hours gluing to his ceiling. How he couldn't cross the street without holding her hand. 

Then he looked up at Obadiah again, and every ounce of fight left him. 

"Yes." 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes, sir." 

That night, Peter woke up with a gasp. He sat up in bed and stared out into the darkness of his room, how it seemed to stretch out in front of him. It was like a cave, or a dark hallway with a monster waiting at the end, teeth glittering, dripping with drool— 

Peter fell back again, pulling the covers up over his head. 

"May!" he cried, his eyes squeezed shut. After a minute, Peter peeked his head out of the bedsheets and looked towards his door—still closed tight. "May?" 

_ Oh.  _ Tears sprung up instantly, burning against Peter's eyelids.  _ She's not here.  _ With the blanket over his head, Peter counted the minutes until morning, too scared to fall asleep. 

  
  


Summer turned to Fall. Peter grew two inches, but no one was there to help him mark the new height on his wall. The nightmares tapered off, but Peter still woke up most nights, as if someone was pinching him awake. He stared at the stars above him, unable to fall back to sleep until dawn started to break. 

One night, he couldn't lie still. The walls seemed to be curving towards him, like the butterfly cocoons in his insect encyclopedia, and his sheets felt like rope, tied around his ankles and wrists. So he peeled back his covers and started wandering the halls of the tower. 

He stayed far from Obadiah's room, his stomach twisting when imagining what the man would say if he caught Peter walking around past midnight. Instead, he took the elevator down to the 87th floor, to where his father's lab was. 

Peter pressed his hand against the scanner and felt a shiver run through him as the doors slid open. The lab hadn't been touched in years, since before his parents died. A fine layer of dust lining every surface, which had Peter sneezing as he walked into the room. Tools were still laid out across tables like they had just been put down. 

Peter stopped at a desk full of scrap metal, hands reaching out unconsciously. He used to spend most afternoons sitting near his father, creating robots out of whatever scraps his father threw out. 

Fingers brushing against the cool metal, Peter looked around the room. For a moment, he could see his father, racing around the lab, pulling up schematics and diagnostics, running tests on new inventions. He moved between tables, between projects, eyes bright and somewhat wild, constantly moving. Sometimes he would end up tripping over Peter, so focused on the screens to notice his son sitting in front of him. 

Peter walked to his father's main desk and hopped up on the cushioned chair, pulling his knees to his chest. He pictured his father across the room, writing up a new formula. His eyes drifted for a moment and found Peter, and his lips lifted.  _ How you doing over there, Petey? _

Peter's attention dropped to the desk. The main computer was just as dusty as the rest of the lab, but it powered on with an easy press of a button, fans whirring beneath the surface. At the low humming sound, the jittery energy in Peter's bones seemed to settle. He leaned his head on the arm of the chair and was lulled back to sleep, the ghost of his father still moving around the room. 

**2011.**

Peter lurched up out of bed, hand clamped over his mouth. He knew by now that no one ever came when he screamed, but it still felt too loud in his room. 

Visions of his nightmare still lingered. Peter wandering the wreckage of the plane, calling out for his parents, finally finding them still strapped in their seats, impaled on lengths of steel. His father's glasses on the ground, surrounded by flame, and the heavy hand on Peter's shoulder, pulling him away from the scene, 

"Not real," Peter said, swallowing the next wave of sobs. "You weren't there."

He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, remembering the tactic May had taught him a few years back. It never failed to relax him, especially if he pictured her in his head, counting down for him.  _ 4, 3, 2, 1.  _

Once he was breathing regularly again, Peter threw off his sheets and jumped out of bed. He knew well by now that once he woke up from a nightmare, he wasn't going to get back to sleep. At least a few nights a week, he was waking up with a cry, so now he had a routine. 

He slid across the shiny marble floors in his haste to get into the lab, scanning his hand and jogging into the space. His two new robots waved at him. 

"Hey DUM-E, what are you up to tonight?" he said, walking towards them. Something sparkled on the floor near them, and Peter stopped short.

"Did you drop something again?" he said, frowning. DUM-E lowered itself almost shamefully, like a dog caught doing wrong. Peter grinned. 

"It's okay DUM-E, I forgive you." He gave the robot a quick pat before stepping around the mess and heading towards the main desk. 

He booted up the computer and sighed. 

"What to get up to today?" he said to himself, peering around the room. What had once been a barren space was now overflowing with projects, the walls covered in blueprints and sketches for inventions Peter came up with during his late-night brainstorm sessions. 

"Would be more fun if you guys could talk to me," Peter said towards the robots, though they did not respond. He tapped a rhythm onto the tabletop, his brain already spinning. 

**2013.**

Two years later, Peter had practically moved into the lab. Every desk was covered with sketches for robots, tired scribbles of chemical components, and algebra equations. Peter had moved three of the computers to the main desk towards the center of the lab, connecting all of the displays until it worked like one giant screen. 

At the moment, all three screens were filled with code, the top of the screen reading PROJECT VOICEBOT. Peter typed furiously, trying to find the right segment that would fix the glitch he kept running into. Since summer started, he'd been camped out in the lab for days on end, rarely leaving to get food or go outside. Obadiah didn't seem to notice or care, only coming down to make sure Peter was still alive. 

At the thought of food, Peter's stomach growled, but he ignored it. He was closer to success than ever before, despite the red letters blinking  _ error _ up at him. 

Another failed attempt had Peter reeling back from the computer in frustration. This was more than a fun experiment, at this point. He had wished for someone to talk to almost two years before, and he was just as desperate now, if not more. Obadiah didn't let him have friends over—not that he had many in school anyway. He was the kid who could recite the pi formula and do triple digit multiplication in his head—which meant he wasn't very popular. 

With a sigh, he pushed up his glasses and tried another sequence. 

"C'mon, Voicebot, c'mon—" the screen flashed blue and then shut off. Peter froze with his fingers above the keys. "Hello?"

A flurry of blue lights filled the screen, twisting until they formed a sphere. 

_ "Hello,"  _ said a woman's voice, and Peter almost jumped out of his seat. After a few seconds, he started laughing. 

"It worked!" he leaned back, running his hands through his hair. "Holy crap, I can't believe it worked." He straightened and pulled up the coding on another screen, double checking it. The blue globe pulsed like a heartbeat. 

"I did it." Peter stared at the screens, his mouth dry. Here was someone to talk to, and he couldn't figure out what to say. 

"Hi," he said, after an awkward gap of silence. "I just, um, made you—I built you to…" He trailed off, and then shrugged. 

"To be around, I guess. It's kinda lonely here. I need someone to talk to, and to help me with experiments." 

The screen stayed silent, and Peter bit his lip. 

"Would you want to help me?" he asked. 

_ "I will help you,"  _ the voice said, and Peter's heart soared. 

"That's great," he said, spinning around in his chair. "Thank you, Voicebot." 

_ "You're welcome."  _

Peter scrunched up his face. 

"I guess I should call you something else, like a real name. Like… May?" he shook his head, immediately rejecting the idea. "No, that's weird. What about…" His mind went back to the TV he had watched that morning, the supercomputer in the cartoon. "What about Karen?" 

_ "You can call me Karen, if you like."  _

"Well, hi Karen. My name is Peter." He glanced up at the clock, noticing it was almost two in the morning. 

"Today is my twelfth birthday," he whispered. 

_ "Happy birthday, Peter."  _

Peter's face split into a grin. 

"Thanks. You're the first person to say that to me—well, I guess you're not a  _ person _ , since you're not human… Nevermind, doesn't matter. Karen, what do you say we make something blow up?" 

_ "Sounds like fun."  _

Peter laughed. 

**2015.**

The first blizzard of 2015 hit on a Tuesday afternoon in January. Schools were let out early, though Peter had to wait an extra twenty minutes before his driver, Phillip arrived. The roads were already getting icy, so they drove at a snail's pace, making it home after almost an hour of red lights and car honks. His stomach growling, Peter took the elevator to the penthouse, stepping out at the middle level. He was heading towards the pantry when he heard Obadiah's voice a few rooms over and froze. 

His guardian spent most of his time in the offices in the middle of the Tower, preferring to be away from the 'home' he and Peter had as much as possible. But now he was there, in the penthouse, and Peter was suddenly not that hungry anymore. Deciding to head straight to the lab to start on his work, and hopefully figure out how to program Karen into the speaker in his bedroom, Peter walked quietly through the kitchen. Just as he was passing the office closest to the staircase, the door opened. A woman walked out, stopping before she bumped into Peter.

"Hello," she said, confused. Behind her, Obadiah looked up from his desk. 

"Peter, I didn't know you were here. This is my new assistant, Ms. Pepper Potts. Pepper, this is Peter Parker." 

"Hi," Peter said, glancing up to meet her gaze. Pepper was tall, wearing a navy blue pantsuit with a white blouse, her blonde hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail. She seemed almost cold when their eyes locked, like she was assessing him—but then she smiled, and the sharpness softened. 

"Nice to meet you, Peter," she said. 

"Yeah, you too." Suddenly reminded of May, Peter ducked his head and turned to head to his room. He was sure Pepper wouldn't last more than a few months—under Obadiah's direction, no one was around for very long. 

"Peter," Obadiah called, and Peter froze. He turned and walked back towards his guardian, white-knuckling the straps of his bookbag. He racked his brain for something he could've done to get Obadiah's attention—one so rarely focused on him in recent months—but couldn't think of anything. 

"Yes, Mr. Stane?" 

Obadiah barely glanced at him before looking back down at his phone. 

"Midtown Tech called—you'll be enrolled in the fall." 

Peter's heart shot up from his stomach up into his throat. He inhaled sharply, his eyes filling with tears. 

"Seriously?" he squeaked, his voice high, wobbling dangerously.

"Yes," Obadiah said. 

Practically vibrating with excitement, Peter leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Obadiah's middle. 

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stane," he said, his voice muffled by Obadiah's suit. 

He felt his guardian pat his back twice, stiffly, and then pull away. When Peter looked at him, Obadiah looked away, towards his office. 

"Alright, go along, get your homework done." He pushed Peter's arms away gently but with a firmness that told Peter not to try to hug him again. 

"Okay," Peter said, stepping back. "Thank you."

"Congratulations, Peter," Pepper said as he left the office. 

"Thank you, Ms. Potts." Peter saw her eyebrows lift in surprise. 

"You don't have to call me—" she started, but Obadiah called her over, waving a hand. Eager to be out of eyesight, Peter left before Pepper could finish, running down the stairs to his lab. His heart was still racing, though some of his enthusiasm had dissolved from Obadiah's cold reaction. He kicked himself for reaching for him. He knew better by now—Obadiah was tolerant of him, nothing more. As much as he might want affection, he wasn't going to get it from his guardian. 

The lab doors opened and Peter shook off his disappointment, bounding into the room with a fresh burst of excitement. 

"Karen, you'll  _ never guess  _ what happened!" 

  
  


Peter spent the next eight months desperately wishing for time to move faster. During the summer, most nights were spent wondering about what Midtown Tech would be like, rather than sleeping. His birthday was less exciting than what he knew was coming just a few weeks afterwards. Finally, the ninety degree heat of August changed to the eighty-five heat of early September, and Midtown Tech opened their doors. 

"We're here, Mr. Parker." 

Looking through the tinted window of the car, Peter stared at the brick school building. Kids were filing into the double doors, carrying drones and large cardboard presentations. Peter grinned—until he saw the crowd of cameras forming around his car, leading up to the school gate. 

"I can walk you up to the gate," Phillip said, and Peter thanked him quietly. The man slid out and opened Peter's door for him, placing a gentle hand on Peter's back. Bracing an arm in front of him, Phillip pushed through the crowd until Peter could slip through the gate, jogging up the steps of the school. Peter didn't look back, waiting until the doors shut behind him to exhale. 

A few kids stared as he walked through the halls, but Peter had expected as much. He kept to himself, only speaking up to answer a question in class. At lunch, he hovered at the double doors, lunch tray in hand. Every table was partially filled. 

A hand waved to the left of Peter, attached to a boy Peter had seen in a few of his classes. Peter looked around and then pointed at his chest. 

"Me?"

The boy nodded, smiling. Peter walked over, his heart thumping.

"You're Peter, right?" the boy said. "You came in late to Mr. Jameston's class." 

Peter flushed, ducking his head. 

"Yeah, I got turned around in the halls. This school is bigger than my last one." He sat down next to the boy and smiled at the girl sitting across from them. She didn't respond, her face buried in a book.

"That's Michelle," the boy said, "she doesn't talk much. I'm Ned." 

"Peter." 

Ned grinned, and his eyes swiveled to Peter's backpack. His eyebrows raised. 

"Dude, do you like Star Wars?"

Peter pulled his backpack off and grinned. He had hooked his mini lightsabers to the zipper, for good luck. 

"Yeah," he said, and Ned matched his smile. 

"Dude, me too!" 

"Watch this," Peter said, and he pulled the lightsabers off the keychain. They both lit up in blue and red, and Ned's eyes widened. 

"That's so cool," he said. 

Peter handed him the red one and without speaking, they staged a fight in their seats, making the clashing noises on their own. Across from them, Michelle stared over her book, unimpressed. When they finished—Ned begging for mercy while Peter pushed his lightsaber down over him—Peter felt lighter than he had in years. 

"You have to come over to my house, I just got the new Millennium Falcon LEGO set," Ned said. "We can build it together." 

Peter looked down at his fries and smiled. 

  
  


The months flew by with school projects and sleepovers at Ned's house. Peter excelled in the classroom, though the hallways still felt like a long walk through hungry paparazzi. Fake smiles were still a normal occurrence—though having Ned by his side made things easier. 

Awake before the sun, Peter walked down into his lab, his hands desperate to tinker. 

_ "Good morning, Peter,"  _ Karen said, her voice filtering through the surrounding speakers. 

"Hiya," Peter said, dropping his bag by the side of the door. 

_ "Why are you up so early?" _

"Woke up and couldn't fall back asleep, you know, the usual," Peter said, shrugging. He hopped onto the stool by his desk and started booting up the computers, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. 

_ "Are you stressed about something? You haven't had a nightmare in a few weeks."  _

"Sort of." He paused, looking around the lab. "I don't know. I really like Midtown…" 

_ "But?"  _

"People keep staring."

_ "Is that bad?"  _

"I mean, when you're the only one they stare at, yeah." 

_ "I don't understand."  _

Peter sighed.

"I'm sort of famous. Because of my parents, and the company. And some people try to take advantage of that, or whatever." 

_ "What do you mean?" _

"There are people who try to be my friend because of… who I am. Like Flash." 

_ "Remind me who 'Flash' is?"  _

Peter spun in circles on his chair. 

"He's this total jerk I have classes with. He picks on anyone smaller than him and is always boasting about his family—he's been trying to hang out since the first week of school, but I know it's all fake. He doesn't like me—I can tell." 

_ "I don't know how anyone could not like you, Peter."  _

Peter rolled his eyes with a laugh. 

"KAREN, I don't remember coding you to be a kiss-ass," he quipped, tapping on his computer key until the screen lit up. 

_ "My apologies, it must be a bug in your code."  _

"Excuse me? My code is flawless, thank you very much. I made  _ you _ , didn't I?" 

_ "You did."  _

Peter's phone buzzed with a text from Phillip.  _ Where are you?  _ With a sigh, Peter left his desk and walked towards the door. 

"Alright K, as fun as this is, I have to go and  _ learn  _ now, or whatever." 

_ "Have a good day, Peter."  _

"I'll try." 

"Peter, there's no way Spider-Man is stronger than Captain America," said Ned as they made their way down the crowded school hallway. 

"I'm  _ telling  _ you," Peter argued, throwing his hands in the air, "there's been a side by side comparison. Spider-Man stopped a truck with his bare hands! What have you seen Captain America do? Other than swing his shield around like a—" 

A hand landed hard on Peter's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. 

"Hey, Peter, man, what's up?" Flash grinned at him. 

"Hi Flash," Peter said, shifting. 

"What are you doing today? Want to hang? We could go to your place, maybe play some video games? Maybe spend some time in a lab, or—" 

"No thanks, Flash, not in the mood," Peter said. He could see Ned shaking his head from the corner of his eye. "Maybe another day." 

"Oh." Flash smiled, but it seemed forced. "Okay, yeah, next time bro! All good." He walked past them, shoving another student into the lockers before exiting the building. 

"What a jerk," Ned said. 

"I know," Peter groaned. "All he wants is to get inside the Tower and take photos of everything. Probably sell air from my room on eBay or something." 

In front of them, Flash slammed his hand down another kid's armful of books, sending them clattering to the ground. He laughed as he walked by, and Peter rolled his eyes. He walked up to the mess that Flash left, Ned by his side, and crouched down to help. 

"I don't know," Ned said, suddenly hesitant. "Maybe he's better as a friend than not." 

Peter shook his head as he grabbed some of the books from the ground. 

"I've already been surrounded by enough liars and kiss-ups at home. I don't have room for any more." He handed the books to the kid with a small smile, and then turned back to Ned. 

"Plus—I have you." 

Ned rolled his eyes, turning to keep walking down the hall. 

"You're such a dork," he said, and Peter laughed. Above them, the bell rang shrilly, reminding them of the few minutes they had to get to class. 

"Oh no," Ned said, looking over at Peter with wide eyes. "Mr. Cobbwell will kill us if we're late again." 

"C'mon," Peter said, grabbing Ned's arm. They ran down the hall together, book-heavy backpacks bouncing painfully against their backs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after revising this story three times over, it's finally at a place i feel good about. shout out to ren, my angel who read every version of this chapter and taught me how to write nerdy boys bc i really couldn't, and brit for supporting me, i love you. 
> 
> thank you for reading! i swear the next chapter will be uploaded faster this time! :) 
> 
> d


	3. a day in the life

**2016.**

Peter woke up before his alarm. He gave himself a minute to sit in the silence, looking around at his room. The posters of Spider-Man and the Avengers team on his wall were no more than blobs of color without his glasses, as were the piles of clothes dispersed around the room. This was the only time Peter ever liked his poor eyesight—the early mornings when he could pretend that life was nothing but abstract, simple. He could be whoever he wanted, without pressure or attachment. 

_ "Peter, it's time to get up," _Karen called from his ceiling. 

"Five more minutes," Peter whined, but reached for his glasses anyway. As soon as the room came into focus, a blue screen materialized beside one of his bedroom windows, depicting the weather outside with a round yellow sun and a few wispy clouds. 

_ "It's in the low 50s today. A jacket is recommended." _

Peter slid out of bed, stepping over piles of clothes to get to his closet. 

"Why's it already so warm out? It's only February," he said, sliding a sweater over his head. 

_ "Signs point to global warming." _

"Right. We should probably do something about that." 

_ "I'll put it on the list." _

Peter smiled, sitting to grab a pair of shoes. 

_ "Do you have plans after school today?" _the A.I. asked. Peter sighed. 

"Not today. I might be going over to Ned's place tomorrow—he said he had to talk to his mom." Peter walked to his mirror and stared at himself. "Do I look okay?" 

_ "You look great. Very smart." _

Peter smiled, his glasses slipping down his nose. 

"Karen, don't make me blush." He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. 

_ "Do you have everything you need? Homework? Phone? Inhaler?" _

"Check, check, and check. Thanks K!" Peter slapped the door frame as he left. He jogged down the steps and dropped his bag by the entrance to the kitchen. Obadiah sat at the counter, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. He didn't look up when Peter walked in. 

"Good morning, Mr. Stane," Peter said, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. Obadiah grunted, clearly focused. Peter stayed silent as he poured himself some cereal. He thought briefly about sitting next to Obadiah before walking through the kitchen to sit at the dining room table. About ten feet away, at the other side of the table, sat a large stack of files. Curiosity itched at Peter—but he knew better than to bother Obadiah during the older man's morning routine. Instead, he finished his cereal, washed everything in the sink, and then grabbed his bag. 

"See you later, Sir," he said, the title heavy on his tongue. Obadiah looked up for half a second, giving Peter a once over. He nodded—a cue for Peter to go. 

Stepping into the dark garage, Peter could already feel the cold from outside. He smiled at his driver, Phillip, and slipped into the back of the fancy car. Relaxing once he felt the heat that was already blasting from the car vents, he wished for what was not the first time that he could bring Karen with him in the car. The ride wasn't that long, but the silence made time feel frozen, stretched out much longer than reality. 

He pulled out his phone and checked the news. Immediately, a heading caught his eye. ** _SPIDER-MAN APPREHENDS HIGHWAY ROBBERY. _ **With a bright smile and a warm feeling in his stomach, he clicked the link. 

**"Yesterday evening, the dinnertime rush hour on Brooklyn Bridge was disrupted by a getaway van fleeing a robbery job at the TD bank on Cadman Plaza. The large van, previously disguised as a flower-delivery company, pushed several cars towards the edge of the right side of the bridge, crushing several fenders in the process. **

**Just when we thought all was lost, Spider-Man swung into frame and saved the day! Quickly stopping the getaway car and webbing the robbers up against the poles of the bridge, the masked vigilante stopped just long enough to high-five a few kids before swinging back towards Manhattan."**

Peter scrolled up to the top of the article and stared at the attached image. The photo was blurry, filled by the Brooklyn Bridge, swarmed with cop cars and crowds of people. In the upper left corner, a small figure could be seen swinging from the top of the bridge. 

"We're here, Peter," Phillip said, and Peter jerked his head up. 

"Thanks, Mr. Waters," he said, and with a grimace he opened his door and slid out. There were only a few cameramen this morning, desperate for the potential shot of Peter in his nerdy graphic tee and flannel, tripping up the steps. He ducked his head as he passed them—he knew the photos wouldn't be published unless he was caught doing something that could be discussed or blown out of proportion, but it still made his skin crawl to imagine how many photos the men had of him just trying to go into school. He held his breath until he got through the main doors and the noise of students around him filtered through. Six months into freshman year, the kids of Midtown Tech seemed much less interested in Peter, as if they finally realized he was just another smart kid, which meant he could walk around without eyes following him. 

Sitting at a desk in his first class, he watched the clock. They were seconds away from the first bell and the seat next to him was still empty. He looked down at his phone, at the unread messages he had sent, and then up to the front of the classroom, where Ms. Warren was writing the question of the day. 

"C'mon, c'mon," he mumbled. The first bell trilled just as the classroom door flew open. Ms. Warren turned. 

"Just in time," she said. Ned dropped into the seat next to Peter. 

"Sorry, my locker was jammed," he said, catching his breath. "I had to ask the janitor for his key." 

"Doesn't matter," Peter said, waving a hand. "Did you see it?" 

"See what?" 

Peter was quick to slide his phone across Ned's desk. Ned squinted at the article for a few seconds, scanning through the words quickly. 

"Do you think that's really him?" he asked, sliding the phone back. Peter stared at him. 

"What?" 

"I mean, it's such a low quality photo—I mean, you can't even tell who that is! For all we know, that could be some other hero, not Spider-Man." 

Peter scoffed as he pulled his notebook out of his bookbag. 

"No way. There's no other superhero in New York that uses webs like Spider-Man." He tried not to let the awe seep into his tone too much—though it didn't matter much. Ned already knew how obsessed Peter was. 

"It could be someone new," Ned argued, to which Peter rolled his eyes. "Especially with the rumors of Spider-Man retiring—" 

"We don't know that he's _ retiring— _ " 

"It's been ten years, Peter. He's probably, like, fifty by now." 

Peter's face felt hot. Just the idea of Spider-Man not being around anymore made his stomach hurt, and his instinct to defend was overpowering. 

"We don't know anything. Anyway, webbing is Spider-Man's thing and if anyone tried to copy him, it just wouldn't—" 

"Excuse me, Peter, class has started," Ms. Warren stared at them, her arms crossed. "Would you and Ned like to join us?" 

Ned and Peter mumbled apologies in unison, classmates around them giggling. The tips of his ears burning, Peter hunched over his notebook. Ms. Warren continued her opening speech about Gravity theory, and Peter found himself doodling on the side of his page instead of taking notes. By the time the bell rang, a few different sketches of Spider-Man swung across the page. 

  
  


"I'm just saying, Spider-Man could have _ given _his suit to someone else," Ned argued as they walked down the hall. 

Peter turned his shoulder to slip past a group of kids without bumping them. 

"Ned, Spider-Man wouldn't just give his suit away. He obviously has powers—super strength, agility—Someone would have to be just like him in order to become the new Spider-Man, and that's—"

A shoulder slammed into his chest, pushing him back into a row of lockers. The breath punched out of his chest on impact. Flash kept walking, throwing a grin over his shoulder. 

"Watch it, _ Penis Parker_," he said, loud enough to turn a few heads. Laughter bounced through the halls as Ned helped Peter back up. 

"You okay?" he said, his eyes round. 

Peter nodded quickly, pushing up his glasses. 

"I'm sorry he's being such a jerk," Ned said.

Peter shrugged. He knew his cheeks were flushed, his eyes burning with tears he refused to let fall, his weakened lungs still recovering from the collision—but he refused to show it. Biting his tongue, he continued down the hallway. 

"I don't care what he does to me," he said. He had known, months ago, that one day Flash's friendly nature would disappear, once it was clear that Peter wasn't buying into it. It didn't mean it didn't hurt him, but at least he wasn't surprised. 

They walked in silence for a few steps, until Ned hit his shoulder with a hand. 

"So maybe there is someone else with powers, someone like Spider-Man. What if he's training a new sidekick? Someone who can take over." 

"Dude, c'mon," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "We've never seen two spider-men swinging through the air, have we? I definitely haven't." 

"What if it's like what happened with the Hawkeyes? How Kate Bishop took over when everyone thought Clint died? And now they both still fight with the same name. It could be like that!" 

"I can't believe you just called them 'the Hawkeyes'." 

They reached the end of the hallway, the double doors leading out to the courtyard. There, Peter slowed to a stop. His chest tightened with a familiar spark of dread. Despite dealing with cameras practically since he was born, he still wasn't used to it. 

"You ready?" Ned asked beside him, watching him with those warm brown eyes. 

"You don't have to do this, you know," Peter said. "You can walk out first." 

Ned shook his head. 

"I'm not leaving you to deal with all this on your own," he said. Warmth spread through Peter's chest, comforting and safe. He may not have many people, but Ned counted double. 

They opened the doors together, walking across the school's courtyard with Ned in the lead. Right beyond the gates stood ten or so men with cameras, all waiting for a shot of Peter that could make them a little extra cash. Peter didn't understand it—he never did anything that the tabloids could make into news, other than embarrassing himself in gym—but still, here they were, at least a few of them every day. 

Grabbing onto the handle of Ned's backpack, Peter let him take the lead as the cameras flashed. Soon enough they were close to the car, Phillip standing by the door with a neutral—though slightly stern—expression. Peter passed Ned, mumbling his thanks as he dipped into the backseat. 

"See you tomorrow," Ned said, and Phillip shut the door. 

Peter sighed, slouching against the leather seats. During the eight hours of classes and tests, he could almost forget this side of his life. The fame his parents developed and the legacy they left, the shoes too big for him to fill. Being at Midtown helped, surrounded by kids just like him—kids who would've been labeled as geeks and nerds in regular high schools. Sitting in class with Ned, Peter could pretend he was just another child prodigy. 

And then the last bell rang, and he was rudely dragged back to reality. The _ real _life was cars with tinted windows and silent drivers, a tower with ninety-three floors and not a single person for him to hang out with. 

After almost an hour of Manhattan traffic, the car pulled into the Tower’s parking lot. Peter thanked Phillip as he stepped out. He took the elevator up to the eighty-ninth floor, walking out to the living room that overlooked the city. The whole floor seemed empty—if Peter was honest with himself, the whole _ tower _ seemed empty, since Peter rarely saw anyone else around. He knew, logically, that there were hundreds of people working in the Tower, all under Parker Industries—but during that long empty elevator ride up, it was hard to believe it. 

Standing in the center of the living room, Peter threw his bag to the ground and flopped onto the couch dramatically. 

"I'm home," he called to no one, his voice echoing in the high ceilings. Then he heard the clicking of heels and turned, surprised. 

"Ms. Potts! I didn't know you were here today," he said. 

Pepper looked professional as usual in her sharp white suit, her lips red as blood. 

"Just stopping by to deliver something for Obadiah," she said, smiling. 

"Are you staying for dinner?" 

"No, not today," Pepper said. 

"Oh, okay." Peter made sure to keep the disappointment out of his expression.

"How was school today?" Pepper asked, walking around the couch towards the kitchen. 

"It was fine. Cafeteria served pizza for lunch, that was nice." There was more he could say—the physics test he thought he aced, the upcoming decathlon competition—but he didn't. Pepper was kind, maybe one of the only people working under Obadiah to care about him—but that didn't mean she wanted to hear about every part of his day. Peter was well-versed in adults who pretended to care—he had grown up going on about an idea only to look up and see Obadiah staring down at his phone, uninterested. 

"Is that boy still bothering you?" Pepper glanced up from her phone. "What's his name… Flash?" Her concern, though hidden under a layer of professional neutrality, reminded Peter of May. Under her stare, everything bubbled up to the surface. He wanted to tell her about how much he hated when Flash called him names, or how long his back had ached after he had been pushed into the lockers, the small bruise he knew was blooming between his shoulder blades. 

Instead, he just rolled his eyes. 

"No, not really." 

Pepper leveled Peter with a look, her eyes narrowed. 

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Parker," she said, and Peter laughed. 

"I'm not! I swear, everything is fine." 

Pepper hummed but didn't press further. The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Obadiah walked in. Peter's shoulders shot up to his ears on instinct, but the older man barely glanced over at him as he passed, walking towards his office. 

"Pepper, did you bring the Acordia files?" 

"Yes, I put them on your desk." 

"Alright, then I think we're set for the day. You can head home." 

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Mr. Stane." Pepper grabbed her bag and walked by the couch once more, touching Peter's shoulder as she passed. 

"I'll see you later," she said, shooting Peter another warm smile over her shoulder. 

"Bye," he said, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that asked to go with her. Obadiah's office door shut firmly behind him, a click that released the tension from Peter's body. Preferring to be far away before his guardian started yelling on his business calls, Peter grabbed his bag and started towards the steps to his room. As he passed the office, however, the door opened again, Obadiah suddenly towering over him. 

"Peter, perfect. Come in here for a second." 

Peter's gut twisted. _ So close. _ Turning, he made his way into the office as Obadiah walked back towards his desk. With the older man sitting back in his chair, staring him down over interlocked hands, Peter felt like he had been sent to the principal's office, awaiting punishment. 

“I have to pull you out of school for a few days,” Obadiah said, after a quiet moment. “They need me to help with a presentation in Afghanistan and I can’t leave you here alone.”

It took Peter a minute to process what the man had said. 

"Afghanistan?" he said. 

"Yes," Obadiah said. He'd lost interest in Peter already, glancing down at the files Pepper left on his desk. "We'll leave on Thursday." 

"Couldn't Pepper just stay around for the weekend?" 

Obadiah didn't look up from the paper he's examining. 

"Pepper is a very busy woman. She doesn't have time to hang out." 

“But—Um—" Peter cleared his throat and tried again. "I have a calc test on Friday." 

Obadiah finally glanced up again, his eyes cold and fixed on him. 

"I'll write your teacher a note," he said sternly. 

Peter nodded. 

"Is that all, Mr. Stane?" he said, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater. 

Obadiah shifted his gaze back to the stack of papers, nodding. Peter slipped away silently, fear chewing holes in his stomach. 

  
  


"I still can't believe he's making you go with him," Ned said. 

Peter switched his phone to his other ear, trying to zip up his suitcase with one hand. He had brought it down to the lab to fit in a few of his current tinkering projects, assuming he'd be spending a lot of time waiting around for Obadiah to finish business. 

"I know, Ned," he sighed. "Just like I knew the first _ three _ times we've talked about it." He had brought it up first on Tuesday, after a night spent tossing in bed, having dreams of plane crashes and desert storms. He should have known better to tell Ned, who worried more than anyone Peter had ever met. It was Thursday now, which meant they had been talking about it for two days straight. 

"I just don't understand," Ned said. "You're fifteen—why wouldn't you be able to stay home alone for two nights?"

"I don't know, Ned." The zipper on the suitcase was stuck in one of his t-shirts, the fabric threaded through the metal piece. Irritated, Peter walked away and sat down at his desk, rubbing a hand across his face. He wanted to tell Obadiah that he wasn't going with him, that he could stay home alone, but the words always got stuck in his throat. 

"Are you scared?" Ned asked. 

Peter froze. 

"Um—" he said, and then cleared his throat. "A little, I guess. But not really. Obadiah's taken me on trips before, he just brings me along for the press." 

"Yeah, true," Ned said, though he sounded just as nervous as Peter felt. "Well, call me when you get there, and everything." 

"Ned, it'll be like four A.M. once I arrive." 

"Call me anyway." 

Peter smiled with his chin to his chest. 

"Alright," he said. "I'll talk to you later." 

"Be careful." 

Peter hung up and tossed the phone onto the desk. His stomach twisted itself into knots. Obadiah had taken him on a few trips, it was true—but never to another country, never for a weapons deal as big as this one. Peter had overheard his guardian the other night, talking about the Jericho, one of the latest weapons of war, made to flatten small towns. Just the idea of watching the missiles in action had Peter's heart racing. He moved from his desk and dropped to the floor in front of one of his father's old car engines, desperate for something to do. 

"K, shuffle music." 

_ I Wanna Be Sedated _ played from the speakers around the lab. Peter crawled underneath the engine and fiddled with the pistons, pulling everything apart just to put it back together from memory. It was a tactic he'd been using for years, something that cleared his mind of any distracting or destructive thoughts. Under the car engine, time ceased to exist. For Peter, it could've been fifteen minutes or three hours, he didn't care. All that was on his mind were the rounds of metal he was fiddling with, screwing and unscrewing onto rods, his hands stained from leaking oil. 

His music paused. 

_ "Peter, Pepper is coming downstairs." _

Peter stayed under the engine as heels clicked against the floors of his lab. 

"Peter, are you ready? The plane is scheduled to leave in an hour," Pepper said. Peter watched from his spot as she stepped over a half-built lego set. He sighed, pushing out from underneath the engine and sitting up. 

"I thought the whole point of having my own plane was leaving whenever _ I'm _ ready," he said. 

Pepper smiled, tapping her fingers against her clipboard. 

"You have a few more years before you can be making those kinds of calls," she said. 

With a dramatic sigh Peter stood, wiping his hands on the towel hanging on his toolbox. 

"Is Mr. Stane waiting for me?" 

"Yes, upstairs." Pepper handed him his bag, her expression suddenly solemn. "Be careful, okay?" 

For a moment, Peter considered telling Pepper how scared he was, how much he wanted to refuse to go. He hated flying, he hated the weapons Obadiah made in the Parker name, he hated being alone around his guardian, who watched him with calculated eyes, like Peter was another product he could market and auction off to the highest bidder.

Instead, he buried the thoughts six feet below and shot Pepper a grin. 

"I've been through this before, Ms. Potts," he said, swinging the bag over his shoulder. "Mr. Stane is going to turn on the TV and shut me in the hotel room all weekend. I'll be fine." 

  
  


"Pete, are you ready?"

Peter looked up from his spot on the hotel bed. Obadiah was standing by the door, tapping his foot. They had just got in from the flight— fourteen hours of turbulence had kept Peter from sleeping very much. 

“Where are we going?” he asked through a yawn, rubbing at his face. It was six in the morning back in New York, and all he wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep for the rest of the day. 

"You're coming with me to the presentation,” Obadiah said coldly. 

Peter's heart lurched. 

_ "What?" _he squeaked. 

Obadiah sighed. 

“Let’s not make this a big deal. Grab your jacket.” When Peter made no movements, Obadiah snapped his fingers. "Make it quick, Pete, we have people waiting for us." 

They sat across from each other in the military car, Peter fiddling with the button on his suit jacket, twisting it in circles. His stomach was jumbled into knots, jolting with every bump in the pavement below. There were two officers in the car with them, guns held loosely in their grasps. Peter didn't have to look too hard to find his last name printed on the side of the weapons in fine white print. 

Obadiah looked up from his phone, his eyes darting to Peter's fidgeting fingers. 

"Stop that," he said. "You'll pull the button off." 

Peter put his hands by his sides. 

"There's no reason for you to be nervous," Obadiah continued, looking back down at his phone. "All you're doing today is watching me and taking notes." 

"Taking notes?" 

"For when it's your turn," Obadiah said, and Peter felt a shudder run through him. His guardian continued on without noticing. "You're almost at an age where you can start doing some work within the company, and I want you to be prepared for when that happens. One day, it'll be you making these deals." 

_ But I'm fifteen _ , Peter wanted to say. _ I'm fifteen and I don't want to run this company. _He saw how the news talked about Obadiah, despite how charming he seemed—the Merchant of Death, that's what they called him. Peter's parents might have started the Parker legacy, but Obadiah was the one who tarnished it, pumping out weapons meant to kill cities, working deals with guys with shark–like grins that made Peter's hair stand on end. 

Still, he said nothing. He nodded his head until Obadiah shot him a wide smile, patting a hand on his knee. Peter stayed quiet while they drove to the demonstration, while Obadiah shook hands and presented the Jericho. He flinched when the weapon went off, the gust of wind and dust making his eyes tear up. Standing to the side of the crowd, he waited while Obadiah talked deals with other men in suits, men with expressions of hunger and money to burn. A few times, Obadiah tried to wave him over, but Peter pretended not to see, staring down at the sand below him, hoping it would decide to swallow him whole. 

Finally, Obadiah walked over. He was grinning, a real smile Peter didn't see often, which meant he had made the deals he expected to. 

"Alright Petey, we're all set here. Why don't you go to the car at the end? I'm going to finish up some business." 

"Okay." Peter left before Obadiah could change his mind, walking over to the last car with a small smile towards the officers. The guns hanging from belts and leather straps made his skin itch—he was surrounded by weapons of destruction and Ned was back at Midtown Tech, halfway through Physics class. 

Three officers piled into the car after him, decked out in tan military fatigues. Peter sent each of them a smile—polite, the way he was trained. He prepared himself for another long drive in silence, staring out the desert outside his window. Then, as the car started moving, the man across from him shifted, laying his gun across his knees. 

"How're you doing, kid?" he asked, and Peter managed another weak smile. 

"I'm okay," he said. 

"Have you ever been across the sea before?" 

"No." 

The man leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. 

"Have you ever been in a desert before?" he asked, in a lower voice. 

Peter's heartbeat quickened. 

"No," he said, and the man's smiled turned sharp, dangerous. 

"It gets real hot out there," he said, gesturing to the world outside the car window. "A man can't last more than a few days without shelter or water. Do you see any of that around?" 

"No," Peter croaked out, his throat dry. 

The woman driving cleared her throat. She turned her head slightly, with a stern look that made Peter feel the need to apologize—but it was directed towards the man talking. 

"Stop fucking around, Waters. You're scaring him."

"I'm only messin'," Waters said, lifting his hands. The woman, her lips pursed, shook her head. 

"He's not a new trainee you've been asked to scare shitless, alright? He's a kid. Leave him be." 

Waters tucked his head towards his chest with a scowl. 

"Sorry," he said after a quiet moment, like a child scolded by his mother. The other men sitting around them chuckled to themselves, smiles hidden behind their hands. 

The woman turned her face to Peter again, this time with a much softer look. 

"So you're from New York, right?" she asked. "My sister lives there." 

"Yeah," Peter said, breathing easier. 

"Where's your favorite spot in the city?" she asked, her eyes flitting to meet his in the mirror. 

Peter shrugged. 

"I don't go many places," he mumbled, glancing down at his hands. During the weapons demonstration he had clenched his fists so hard, there were still half-moon marks from his nails. 

"C'mon kid, there's gotta be somewhere," Waters said, knocking Peter's knee with his own. He was clearly making the effort to be nice to him, his smile slightly forced but still genuine. "Somewhere that's a home away from home." 

At his words, Peter didn't picture a place, but instead a moment in time. For a moment he was eight years old again and lying on his bedroom floor with May, drawing black lines on his red sweatpants. May had stitched the lines into the mask for him each night while he slept, poking herself over a hundred times. Peter never really got to thank her for it, for how much she loved him, how she never played it off as anything else. 

He couldn't imagine telling all of that to the strangers around him, so he shrugged. 

"I guess I like school a lot. I spend most of my time there." 

He felt everyone staring at him, unsure of how to respond. 

"That's a surprise," the woman said, after another few seconds. "For a kid your age, I thought for sure you'd say something like a Gamestop, or a skatepark." 

"I really don't get out much," Peter said, and they shared a smile. 

"I can—" 

The car in front of them exploded in a burst of orange flames and smoke. The car skipped to a halt as the man beside Peter pushed him down onto his knees. 

"Kid, _ stay down _—" Gunshots rang out from all sides, pinging off of the outside metal. Peter threw his hands over his head and doubled over, his heart crawling up his throat. He heard doors slam and looked up to see the two officers in the front of the car exiting with their guns drawn. 

"Waters, stay with the kid," the woman barked as she left the driver's side, gun drawn. Waters crouched beside him, his hand still on his back. 

"It's gonna be okay, kid," he said. "Just stay down." 

The tips of Peter's fingers felt numb. Gunshots peppered the car, cracking the glass in the windows. Waters peeked his head up up and swore. 

"Kid, I'm gonna go help," he said. "Stay where you are." He pressed a hand to Peter's head once and then exited through the door closest to him. Another round of gunshots rang out and Peter shouted as the guard slammed against his door, blood splattered across the window. Everything felt still in that moment, all of his hearing fading into the distance as he stared at the red streaks, his vision blurring them into one bloody blob.

More gunfire rained down on the car like hail, dents forming on the roof. Peter could suddenly smell gasoline, the scent burning his nose and eyes. The realization hit him like a brick. _ The car's going to explode. _He opened the door farthest from the gunfire and stumbled out, immediately looking for cover. He jumped over a rock and peeked out over it, looking for anyone who might be able to help. 

"Mr. Stane," he shouted, his voice cracking. The place looked like a warzone, cars overturned and people hunkered underneath them, guns firing from all sides. "Obadiah!"

Peter heard a thump as something landed in the sand behind him. He turned with his heartbeat the only sound in his ears, and saw the bomb with his last name on it. _ Parker Industries. _He only had a second of blind terror, scrambling back on his hands and knees, before it blew up in front of him. He was thrown back from the impact and landed hard on the sand, the breath knocked out of him. He felt the blood seeping through his shirt, sharp pain like a thousand knives inching their way towards his heart. His vision darkened around the edges, his lungs losing air like a leaking balloon, a hole that Peter couldn't patch up. With one last breath that burned like fire, his eyes fluttered shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ouch! i apologize in advance for the shit i'm about to put peter through :)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> d


End file.
